


r u mine?

by orphan_account



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 01:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7488759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teresa smacks him across the top of his head. “Thomas, I love you, but you can be so fucking clueless sometimes.” </p><p>“Hey!” Thomas protests, trying to shield the rest of his face from her hands. “I already have amnesia, can we please refrain from injuring me even more?” </p><p>“I can’t help it,” Teresa replies, thoroughly exasperated. “You lost your memory and the only possible conclusion your mind jumped to is that you’re in love with Newt. <i>Tell</i> me that doesn’t mean something.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	r u mine?

There’s a hot guy sitting next to him when he wakes up. 

His eyes flutter open, and the first thing he registers is the faint hum of a machine going off somewhere behind him, the smell of antiseptic and sterile cleanliness permeating through the stillness of the room. _Hospital_ , he thinks. _I’m in the hospital._

The _second_ thing he notices is that an attractive stranger is perched on the wooden chair beside his bed. The guy’s got his hands on his knees, fingers gripping at the surface of his jeans, and one of his legs is bouncing up and down in a nervous gesture. With the only light in the room coming from a small lamp on the beside table, amidst the long shadows cast on the opposite wall, the guy’s blonde hair looks almost otherworldly. 

He attempts to crane his neck further, trying to get a better view of the blonde guy, but then a sharp pain suddenly shoots though his head, coming from the base of his skull, and he lets out an involuntary groan. 

The stranger immediately springs from his seat and stalks over to his side, _long_ fingers holding onto the rails of the bed so tightly, his knuckles whiten. (And maybe this guy’s fingers aren’t supposed to be the only thing he takes note of, but since he appears to have suffered some kind of head injury, allowances will just have to be made.) 

“Thomas,” the guy says softly, casting an anxious glance down at him, teeth working at his bottom lip, and he _should_ really be worrying about the fact that he’s apparently hurt and not that the blonde guy’s lips are really—

Wait. Thomas. So _that’s_ his name. 

It suddenly dawns on Thomas with startling clarity that he doesn’t know anything about himself. He racks his brain, trying to find the slightest bit of familiarity that will help him understand, but he comes up empty. Oh, God, he’s lost his memory.

The blonde guy presses on, completely unaware of the inner turmoil currently churning through Thomas’ mind. “Are you alright?” He talks with some kind of accent, so maybe this means Thomas lives in England. He doesn’t think he’s ever been there before. But then again, has he been _anywhere_? 

Thankfully, Thomas is saved from having to reply by the sound of the door opening. This time his visitor is a girl, dark-haired and slight, and she rushes to his side, her arms full of books. 

“Tom!” she gasps, and from the sheer weight of her voice, the worried creases at the corners of her eyes, Thomas assumes that this is probably his girlfriend. But then her tone changes and she adds, “I _told_ you your bike was a piece of shit. Your mom is going to _kill_ you,” and Thomas decides otherwise. She’s probably his cousin. Or maybe his stepsister, she did make a reference to _his_ mom. 

“Um, Teresa,” the blonde guy cuts in, an amused tilt to his mouth. “Maybe save the lecture for _after_ he’s gotten out of here, yeah?” 

“Oh, I will,” Teresa, his girlfriend/cousin/stepsister (he really hopes it’s not a combination of all three. There’s no telling what kind of freak he might be), promises, and the guy laughs. He’s got a nice laugh, all soft and low and— 

The guy’s hesitant question pierces through Thomas’ mental bubble. “Tommy?” How many different versions of his name does he have? “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

He thinks about telling his friends (?) that he can’t remember anything, but one glance at their already distraught expressions has him deciding to keep that little fact to himself. After all, he’s only twenty (he’s _at least_ twenty, right? Although the blonde guy does look like he’s in middle school), how hard can it be to piece his life together? 

“I’m fine,” he rasps, and he sounds like he hasn’t spoken in years. He’s American, like Teresa, so he figures that’s where he lives, and that the blonde guy is the foreigner. (See? He’s totally on his way.) 

Teresa nods, ducking down quickly to kiss him on the cheek. “We’ll be back tomorrow,” she tells him, then edges towards the door. 

The blonde guy stays put, scanning Thomas’ face as if he’s searching for something. “I’m glad you’re alright.” Then he takes a deep breath, about to say more, and Thomas braces himself for whatever it could be. 

“Newt?” Teresa startles them both. “Newt, you coming?” 

Despite the slight disappointment at being interrupted, Thomas lets a small burst of triumph wash over him. So Newt is his name. The next question is: who is he? 

But, if he thinks about it, who is anyone?

—

Over the next few days, through the constant stream of visitors that float in and out of his room, Thomas manages to collect a few vital tidbits about himself: 

1\. He landed in the hospital because of a bike accident. According to Newt, who had been the last person to see him, he’d been riding his bike through town when he collided with a post. Thomas is apparently rather accident-prone, because no one seemed to be very shocked by this news. The doctors assure him that he’s suffered nothing worse than a mild concussion, and Thomas wonders how they’d react if he admitted that he remembers nothing. 

2\. He’s a university student, majoring in fitness, and he’s on the track team. This is one of the things that surprised him the most. He hasn’t seen much of his body since he woke up, but he doesn’t think he’s ripped enough to qualify for anything like that. Not like that big guy with scary eyebrows who came in to see him, biceps that Thomas was only slightly jealous of bulging under his shirt. 

3\. Teresa isn’t his girlfriend or his cousin or his stepsister. She’s his best friend from childhood. He discovers this the day after his accident when she returned as promised, brandishing her cellphone at him and demanding he talk to his mom. It’s quite a unique experience, being subjected to a lecture by a woman who claims to have given birth to you in painfully vivid detail (“Nine hours I was in labor, Thomas, _nine_ hours just for you!”), but having no idea who she is or what she looks like. 

4\. The last (and probably most important) thing Thomas uncovers about himself is that he’s gay. He kind of wishes he didn’t find out the way he did, but beggars can’t be choosers when it comes to amnesia. He’d been lying in bed, same as always, when some guy who called himself Aris waltzed in, going on about how much he missed Thomas and what a great lay he was. (“Seriously, Tom, that thing you do with your _mouth_ —”) Newt had herded a protesting Aris out the door before he could say much else, but Thomas’ cheeks had stayed a dark shade of red throughout the next hour. 

All in all, Thomas thinks he was right in resolving to keep his condition to himself. It becomes almost a game to him, trying to figure out how people slot into his life. Teresa is his best friend. The buff Asian dude who comes in everyday complaining about their landlord is his roommate. The dark-skinned boy who handed him a card signed by their coach is his teammate. 

The only person Thomas can’t quite figure out is Newt. Newt is obviously his friend, but there’s this element to their relationship that seems to suggest otherwise. He’s by Thomas’ side first thing in the morning, and he only leaves the room when the nurses force him out at the end of the day. 

He also teases Thomas constantly, but then he’ll offer up these small smiles that’ll kickstart Thomas’ pulse. The rest of their friends don’t seem to find his persistent presence strange, and one day, when Newt is about to leave and Thomas is pretending to sleep, Newt actually brushes the hair off Thomas’ forehead before he goes.

Thomas doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone who’s blurred the lines between friendship and something else so completely, and it’s honestly starting to frustrate him as much as being confined to his hospital bed. When he complains to Newt about his perpetual boredom, Newt rolls his eyes and calls him a “bloody” drama queen. 

“Hey,” Thomas begins, watching Newt start to gather his things before visiting hours are over. (It’s probably for the best. Thomas’ nurse, Janson, is the meanest caregiver Thomas has ever met. If Newt stays beyond the allotted time again, he’s probably going to land himself in the hospital, too.) “Thanks for doing this,” he says. “It must be pretty boring just sitting there staring at me all day.” 

“There are worse things to stare at,” Newt replies, smirking when Thomas flushes in response. “Of course I’m doing this,” he adds with a shrug. “It’s you.” Then he grins at Thomas, looking at him with a soft gaze and such warmth, Thomas can feel the heat of it from across the room. 

The revelation hits him so swiftly, he’s almost winded by the force of it. It’s so glaringly obvious, Thomas can’t believe it took him this long to figure it out.

Newt is his _boyfriend_.

—

When Thomas is finally allowed out of the hospital, he comes home to an unfamiliar apartment and a room full of stuff. The Asian guy, whose name is Minho, welcomes him back with beer and pizza. They watch the game on their shared couch, trading insults back and forth, and Thomas can see why he chose to live with him. 

He figures his relationship with Newt must be fairly new, otherwise they would probably be living together. Newt had dropped him off and helped him settle in, and when he turned to leave, he paused at the door, and Thomas wondered if he was about to kiss him. It wasn’t an unpleasant thought in the slightest, so when Newt just pressed his hand with a smile instead, Thomas couldn’t help but feel slightly defeated. 

The only thing no one thought to mention to Thomas is the fact he’d apparently taken a job at the beginning of the summer at the local bakery, something he only finds out when Minho wakes him up at seven in the morning on a Monday because he’s going to be late for his usual shift. 

It’s not so bad, as it turns out. His co-worker, Brenda, is a fellow student at his university, taking up criminology. The first time he meets her since the accident, she cheerfully informs him that after a night of research, she now knows four different methods of making bread and _five_ different ways to kill someone with a bread knife. 

The owner of the shop, Jorge, Brenda’s dad or uncle or whatever, lets him keep the leftover pastries and doesn’t care that his breaks extend well beyond the designated time frame. Newt visits him during lunch, and when he catches a glimpse of Jorge’s knowing smile from behind the counter, Thomas can tell he came to the right conclusion.

—

Throughout the next few weeks, Thomas compiles a list of reasons why Newt is so obviously his boyfriend, it’s probably embarrassing that it took so long to realize: 

1\. Newt’s nickname for him. He hadn’t noticed it at first, what with Minho calling him by a different name every week (Greenie and Greenbean being the most common), but Newt is the only person who ever calls him Tommy. 

He asks Teresa once why no one else does, and she snorts and says, “He’d deny it, but I think Newt couldn’t stand someone stealing his special nickname for you. We just choose to humor him.” 

2\. The way Newt watches him constantly, something in his gaze that speaks of a lingering fondness and affection, tenderness hidden beneath the sarcastic barbs. 

But then Thomas will picture the way Newt laughs, head tilted back and eyes half-closed, or the way he’ll raise an eyebrow and suppress a smirk whenever Thomas says anything particularly stupid, and he thinks maybe Newt isn’t the only one who’s looking after all. 

3\. The way they just _fit_. How Newt seems to spend more time in Thomas’ room than his own, how Thomas grows accustomed to finding a shirt that isn’t his spread out on the floor, how they sit pressed against each other on his bed, laughing over the stupidest things. (“Stop posting my bloody baby pictures online,” Newt grumbles, and Thomas rests his chin on Newt’s shoulder and exclaims, “But you were the cutest kid _ever_!”) 

They aren’t a very showy couple at all, and when they’re with their friends, it’s as if they aren’t even dating. But one night, they’re sitting next to each other at their university bar, and Thomas reaches for Newt’s hand underneath the table, lacing their fingers together. They stay like that for the rest of the evening. 

4\. Thomas kisses him for the first time since the accident late on a Tuesday, rain falling outside the window, the streetlights reduced to blurred pinpricks of brightness against the dark sky. The kiss is gentle and brief, and when Thomas pulls away, there’s an indecipherable expression on Newt’s face that has Thomas worried he’s done the wrong thing. But then Newt is tugging him closer, his mouth hard and demanding, and Thomas feels as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. 

5\. The first time they sleep together is after a house party at Harriet’s. They stumble into Newt’s room, drunk on cheap beer and each other, and Thomas backs Newt against the door, planting kisses on his neck as Newt struggles with the zip on Thomas’ jeans. They fall onto the bed, Thomas gripping Newt’s hips, marking the bare skin of Newt’s shoulder, and when he finally enters Newt, he feels the jolt of memory like an electric shock, the rush of the many different times he’s had Newt underneath him coursing through his body. He’s so, so glad Newt is his. 

Time passes and their relationship flourishes. Their video game sessions now end with Thomas sprawled on the floor, lips red and raw. His breaks are spent with Newt’s fingers digging into his sides, his own fingers tangled in Newt’s hair. And when he has to go back to work, it’s all he can do not to let the thoughts of what he _could_ be doing consume him. 

Teresa gives Newt the shovel talk, and he emerges from her room, traumatized as hell. (He refuses to tell Thomas what exactly she threatened him with, but he’ll get it out of Newt eventually.) Minho automatically sets an extra place for Newt during dinner and offers him his spot on the couch. Gally pretends to gag every time they walk into a room together, and Alby whacks him on the shoulder then grins suggestively. 

Thomas drinks it all in, his insides swelling with joy, and he lets himself free fall into love.

—

Newt’s birthday falls conveniently on the weekend before school starts, which basically gives everyone an excuse to throw a party, despite his ignored complaints. 

“You really need to learn how to live,” Thomas tells him, grabbing another bottle of tequila off the shelf and throwing it into their cart. “Seriously, man, the day your fine ass was born is a reason for celebration.” 

“Put that back where you got it,” Newt orders, pointing at a huge bottle of cognac. “You’ll give us all bloody alcohol poisoning.” 

Thomas lets out a long-suffering sigh, but complies. He picks up another bottle of vodka to compensate, and Newt groans. “You’ll still love me even if I do, right?” he asks beseechingly, turning wide eyes to Newt. 

Newt’s mouth twitches. “Unfortunately,” he answers, and Thomas beams at him. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Thomas says, wheeling their groceries towards the counter. “I’ll stay sober enough to give you your birthday present,” he vows with a wink. 

“I’ll hold you to that, then,” Newt replies, and he takes a step closer. “It’s what I’ll be thinking about all night,” he breathes into Thomas’ ear, and he lets out an involuntary shudder. 

Thomas gives him an exasperated glare as he backs off. “Let’s try not to turn me on in the middle of the supermarket.”

Newt nods gravely. “We wouldn’t want a repeat of last time.” 

“Hey!” Thomas objects, ignoring Newt’s suppressed grin. “It’s not my fault you were—fuck! Sorry, dude, you okay?”

The guy Thomas bumped into is tall and dark-haired, and he surveys Thomas nervously, gaze trained on Newt. “Yeah, it’s fine.” He’s almost familiar in a way, and Thomas looks him over, trying to work past all the noise in his head. 

“Great to see you, Winston.” Newt’s voice slices through the air, and Thomas is surprised by how cold it is. “Tommy, let’s go,” he orders, making to move past Winston. 

Winston. The name sends a current running through Thomas’ spine, firing up the nerves inside him. “How do I—” 

Winston interrupts him before he can finish his question. With the manner of someone trying to get something heavy off his chest, he says in a rush, “Um, Thomas, I just wanted to apologize. I had no idea you and Newt were together before your accident, and—” 

“That’s enough,” Newt cuts him off, tone as hard as steel. “Thomas, we need to leave.” 

Thomas ignores him; he feels like his insides are about to explode. Winston’s words are causing the long-forgotten gears of memory in his head to start turning, and like a machine gone unused, it’s slow going. “Sorry, my memory sucks. What about my accident?” 

“I—you saw us,” Winston explains, glancing over to peer at Newt’s thunderous expression. “When you were riding your bike?” he prompts when Thomas just blinks at him, completely taken aback. “It’s how you hit your head.” 

“I…saw you?” Thomas repeats. “I don’t…” He trails off, his brain going into overdrive. Then, as sudden as a lightning strike, a mental image swims up in front of him. The downward slope of the road, the sun beating down from overhead, Newt backed into the wall, Winston’s lips on his. 

Thomas turns towards Newt in shock. “You,” is all he manages to say, the rest of his vocabulary being drowned out due to this surprising revelation. “I need to leave.” He sounds weird, gone. He pushes past Newt and makes for the exit, his mind going at a million miles per hour. 

Newt follows Thomas back to his apartment, and Thomas immediately makes a beeline for the kitchen, falling onto one of the mismatched chairs. He finally glances up at Newt, and he feels as if his body’s been doused in ice water. “Care to explain what just happened?” 

Newt shrugs despairingly, and Thomas doesn’t think he’s ever seen Newt look so wrecked. “It was a stupid thing to do, I just—you didn’t say anything when you first woke up. I thought it meant you were willing to give us a shot.” His mouth twists unhappily. “Dumb of me, I guess.” 

“Oh my God,” Thomas starts, another piece of the puzzle slowly falling into place. “That’s why you were there at the hospital. You didn’t stay because you cared, you were just _guilty_.” 

“No!” Newt disagrees, gripping the edge of the table. “It wasn’t that, Tommy. I did care. I _do_. I just figured you wanted to forget it, so I—” 

“Why would I want to forget that you _cheated_ on me?” Thomas demands, and Newt’s features morph into a disbelieving stare. 

“Cheated on you?” Newt echoes, eyes narrowing. “I didn’t _cheat_ on you. For one thing, we’d have actually had to be dating for that to happen.” 

Thomas feels his entire world tilt on its axis. “But we _are_ dating,” he says weakly. “Aren’t we?” 

“Yeah, now,” Newt snorts. “Before that it was hard enough to get you to acknowledge me in public.” He takes in Thomas’ confused expression, and another thing seems to become clear to him. “Bloody hell. You don’t remember anything, do you?” 

“I _know_ we were together,” Thomas argues, trying to think despite the blood rushing to his head. “That night after Harriet’s I remembered…” There’s a beat of silence, and then it hits him. “We were already sleeping together, weren’t we?” He swallows thickly, trying to quell the ringing in his ears. “Before.” 

“Congratulations,” Newt deadpans, completely devoid of any emotion. “You finally got one thing right.” 

The tentative reality Thomas had lived in for the last month has shattered, leaving nothing but fragmented shards in its wake. He shakes his head and utters the understatement of the millennium: “I don’t understand.” 

“This was all some kind of joke to you, wasn’t it?” Newt raises his hands in a sardonic surrender. “You figured I was in love with you, so you just went along with it. Bloody fantastic.” He laughs darkly, the sound bitter and hollow. “You know, I was fine with just having sex,” he continues, standing as far away from Thomas as the space will possibly allow. “I was fine with you not wanting anything more than that. I should have known something was wrong the night you kissed me, but I let myself hope you were finally giving me a fucking chance.” 

Thomas watches the entire universe he had built for himself crumble to dust in front of him, but he does nothing to salvage it. “Newt, I—” 

Newt turns to leave, and if Thomas had enough strength to keep his surroundings from spinning, he would have reached out to stop him. “I’ll see you around, Thomas.” 

The door swings shut behind him, and Thomas is left sitting alone, trying to stitch back the tattered pieces of his former life. It’s almost ironic, how what caused things to come together is also what tore them apart. 

Thomas pulls his cellphone from his pocket and scrolls through his contacts, clicking on the one he’s searching for. “Hi,” he says into the receiver. “I need you.”

—

“You’re kidding.” Teresa leans back in her seat, staring at Thomas in a mixture of shock and amusement. “You mean you didn’t remember me? _At all?_ ” 

Thomas lifts a shoulder. “No?” Then he smiles weakly. “But it wasn’t hard to figure out you were my best friend,” he offers, hoping to placate her. 

She doesn’t buy it. “Nice try,” Teresa replies wryly. “Oh my God,” she adds, slamming a hand on the table, causing Thomas to jump. “You didn’t remember your mom, either, did you? How fucked up is that?” 

“Let’s stay on track here,” Thomas reminds her, trying to steer their conversation back to the original problem at hand. “Newt.” 

“Yeah, speaking of Newt, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about the two of you!” Teresa reaches across the table and punches him on the shoulder. “I’m your best friend!” 

“Obviously I had my reasons for not telling you, but I can’t exactly give them to you now, can I?” Thomas defends, rubbing his shoulder. For someone so tiny, Teresa has a really strong fist. 

“Fine, you’re right,” she concedes, deflating a bit. “So, about Newt.” Thomas looks at her expectantly, and she pats his hand sympathetically. “Oh, Tom. You’re so fucking stupid.” 

“Okay, none of you said anything about it!” Thomas insists, pointing a finger at her. “How was I supposed to know it wasn’t normal?” 

“Because we all thought you finally got your shit together,” Teresa informs him. “The two of you have been dancing around each other for _years_. You’re worse than Ross and Rachel, honestly.” 

Thomas regards her confusedly. “Do we have more friends I don’t know about?” Then he shakes his head. “Forget it. I don’t know what to do, T,” he confesses, the nickname slipping out automatically, and Teresa’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “He said I didn’t want to be with him before the accident. What if it’s true?” 

Teresa smacks him across the top of his head. “Thomas, I love you, but you can be so fucking clueless sometimes.” 

“Hey!” Thomas protests, trying to shield the rest of his face from her hands. “I already have amnesia, can we please refrain from injuring me even more?” 

“I can’t help it,” Teresa replies, thoroughly exasperated. “You lost your memory and the only possible conclusion your mind jumped to is that you’re in love with Newt. _Tell_ me that doesn’t mean something.” 

Thomas takes one look at her quirked eyebrow and the way her hands are outstretched, ready to beat some more sense into him, and he sighs. “You’re right.” 

“I always am,” she says smugly, then she crosses her arms. “If you didn’t want to be with him before, then you were probably just being an idiot.” 

Thomas chooses to ignore her insulting him yet _again ___. “You know what, T,” he tells her with a grin, “in another life, I think you’d be my annoying older sister.”

__

Teresa returns the smile. “Well then, you better start trying to fix what you fucked up, _little brother_.”

—

“What’s wrong, _hermano_?” Jorge pulls out another chair from underneath a stack of paper bags and drags it next to Thomas. “Trouble in paradise?” 

“Something like that,” Thomas mumbles distractedly. It’s Newt’s birthday and the day of his party, and Thomas is no closer to getting Newt to return his calls than he is to getting his memory back. 

Jorge sighs, and looking around at the discarded pastry boxes and bags of icing lying throughout the store room, Thomas feels the strangest sense of déjà vu. “What happened? The two of you seemed fine.” When Thomas blinks at him, startled, Jorge winks in response. “Don’t think I didn’t know what you two were getting up to during your breaks.” 

He cringes and Jorge snickers. “Yeah, well, that’s done now,” Thomas admits. He can’t believe he’s actually opening up to his _boss_ about his love life. Well, his current lack of one, anyway.

“ _Hermano_ ,” Jorge starts, clapping him heavily on the shoulder, “how many times are we gonna have this conversation? The boy is obviously in love with you.” 

Thomas frowns, his forehead creasing. “What? That’s not even—” 

“I told you he felt the same way, _sí_?” Jorge goes on, interrupting him. “I thought you finally listened to me for once.” 

Thomas doesn’t know if he should be more surprised or creeped out by the fact that he has apparently gone to Jorge for advice before. “You mean I—” 

Again his employer cuts in before he can finish his question. “You always go on and on about how he’ll never like you back,” Jorge explains, waving his hands around erratically. “But now when you finally have him, you let him go?” 

“I thought Newt didn’t want me,” Thomas marvels, the heavy weight of realization settling upon him. Teresa is right, he _is_ fucking clueless. “I’ve been in love with him from the start, I just assumed he didn’t feel the same.” 

Jorge gives him a sympathetic glance. “You’re lucky you’re handsome.” Then he stands up, dusting his hands off on his apron. “By the way, I have that cake you ordered for his party tonight,” he says, pointing at the cardboard box sitting on the counter before he leaves. 

Once he’s on his own, Thomas continues to sit there for a bit, turning things over. Then he jumps to his feet, and for the first time in a long while, he knows exactly what he’s going to do. He crouches down and pulls out an unused bag of icing, then he lifts the lid off the cake box and gets to work.

—

The party is already well underway when Thomas finally arrives at Newt’s apartment complex, and he walks up to the second floor where the celebration is being held, the cardboard box tucked securely against his chest. 

The room is packed, the telltale sounds of laughter and clinking glasses signifying the promise of a good night. Aside from Alby, who Thomas had nodded to as he entered, and Winston, who shoots him a baleful glance as he passes by, he doesn’t recognize anyone else. 

Thomas fights his way through the crowd in an attempt to catch sight of a familiar face, and he’s just about to give up and turn around when he hears the unmistakable sound of Minho’s goading tone. “Seriously, man, it’s your birthday! Don’t be like this.” 

He follows the sound of Minho’s voice, and when he finally manages to step aside and break free from the crush of people, he finds himself looking at his group of friends, all circled around Newt. 

“Leave me alone,” Newt grumbles, scowling at his friend. “I didn’t ask you to throw me this bloody party.” 

Minho deflates and Teresa steps forward. “Newt, what he means is—” 

“Um,” Thomas blurts out before he can stop himself. “Hi.” 

Minho and Teresa spin around so quickly, Thomas is impressed they don’t fall over. “Thomas!” Minho exclaims, throwing an arm around him. “You’re here!” 

Thomas sidesteps his roommate and moves forward. “Can I talk to you?” he asks Newt, whose expression has gone carefully blank. 

“Why don’t you two go out onto the stairwell?” Teresa suggests, pushing his shoulder lightly. Thomas is so caught off guard, he lets her direct him towards a gray door that’s practically invisible against the bright colors of the party lights. 

“Great idea!” Minho adds, turning the knob and all but shoving Newt through it. “We’ll see you in a bit!” Then he slams the entrance closed, the noise echoing ominously on the concrete steps. 

“Those two are too bloody nosy for their own good,” Newt grits out, glaring daggers at the closed door. 

“I bet they’re standing with their ears pressed against the wall as we speak,” Thomas agrees. The stairway is dim and cramped, and he takes a deep breath, readying himself for what he’s about to say. “Newt, I’m—”

“I’d rather you didn’t say anything,” Newt interjects acidly. He’s looking at everything but Thomas, and in the fading light, Thomas can see the way his jaw is clenched in frustration. 

“Too bad,” Thomas replies, shifting the box around in his arms before he launches into his explanation. “I know I fucked up. I should have told everyone the truth when I first woke up. But you all looked so worried about me, I didn’t want to make it worse.” He pauses, trying to figure out where to go from there. “It was so easy, figuring out how everyone fit. Everyone except you. Because from the start, you were always something more.” 

Newt finally meets his gaze, the remnants of a former softness in it, and this encourages Thomas to keep going. “Yeah, maybe at first I acted the way I thought a boyfriend was supposed to. Then as time went on, I realized I wasn’t acting. I never had been.” 

Thomas is suddenly aware of every sensation flowing through his body, every pump of blood pulsing through his veins. Newt is still watching him, and he knows that what he says next will make or break them for good. “I’m in love with you,” he says firmly, trying to convey the full force of his sincerity with his tone. “I always have been. I was just dumb enough to think you didn’t feel the same.” 

“You are pretty dumb sometimes,” Newt concedes, and Thomas’ heart contracts in the best way possible at the smile on his face. 

“I know.” Thomas turns the box around and flips the lid over, holding it out for Newt to see. “So this is me making sure I do something right this time.” 

Newt leans over and peers into the box, surveying its content. Inside is a simple chocolate cake, and written on the surface in swirly green letters are the words: _BE MY BOYFRIEND_. 

“According to Teresa we’ve been dating for years,” Thomas tells Newt, who is still looking down at the words in a quiet sort of awe. “But I think it’s about time we make it official. What do you think?”

“I think,” Newt answers, taking the box from Thomas’ hands and setting it down on the staircase, “I want to cash in that birthday present you promised me.” 

“But your party,” Thomas tries to reason, his objection turning into a moan when Newt starts to suck on his neck. “You’re right,” he gasps, hands falling to Newt’s waist. “Fuck the party.” 

“Let’s get out of here,” Newt suggests, then he grabs Thomas’ hand and drags him up the stairs, the two of them practically sprinting in their haste to get to Newt’s place. 

The second they enter the apartment, Thomas pushes Newt against the door, lips and hands everywhere. At the last second, he pulls back and takes in Newt’s flushed cheeks and dilated pupils. “Hey,” he says. “I love you.” 

Newt kisses him again, and Thomas can feel the curve of his grin against his mouth. “I know.”


End file.
